Crumbling Away
by carameltootsieroll
Summary: Stiles is reeling from the after effects of being shown a memory of his mother who suffered from dementia. "He felt like his heart was being crushed by a fist, a fist that had just punched through the wall that grief had carefully built around his fragile heart. A heart that had endured too much, too young." (Set after the events of s05e6) Panic-attack Stiles warning


_**A/N:**_ **So this was sorta inspired by** _ **heavenstalia**_ **on Twitter. "Just imagine Stiles having flashbacks of his mom it will destroy him." But the next day, a new episode of Teen Wolf came out and Stiles** _ **did**_ **have a flashback of his mom! I'm not really sure where this one-shot angst fic is going, but I do hope you guys enjoy it!**

 **Warning for Stiles panic attack up ahead. If you guys aren't comfortable with that, I advice viewer discretion!**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **I don't own this emotionally-draining show or these emotionally-drained characters. :( I also do no own the line I borrowed from Cassandra Clare's _City of Heavenly Fire_ (which, by the way, was a TREMENDOUSLY AWESOME book to end the series! I love you, Cassie Clare!)**

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"There are memories that time does not erase... Forever does not make loss forgettable, only bearable."  
― _Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire_

The panic attack hit him unexpectedly, as it always did.

Scott and Stiles had just finished their weekday lacrosse training and were hanging out at the locker rooms when Stiles' lungs began to close up.

" _He's trying to hurt me. I don't care if you don't believe me, but he is! He's trying to kill me!"_

Claudia Stilinski's shrill voice echoed painfully in Stiles' mind, and suddenly, he felt like he was crumbling away.

Crumbling away like he was a skyscraper, once strong, now collapsing and falling apart brick-by-brick. He felt like his skeletal frame was disintegrating, making his legs tremble and give way, bruising his knees as he fell forward. He felt like his heart was being crushed by a fist, a fist that had just punched through the wall that grief had carefully built around his fragile heart.

His _fragile_ heart. A heart that had endured too much, too young.

Stiles hadn't wanted anyone to witness him falter, yet _Scott_ was by his side at that moment. Scott always seemed to be by his side, whether Stiles wanted him to or not.

"Stiles?" came Scott's voice, a calming anchor as opposed to the madness that raged inside Stiles' body. "Hey, bud? Are you alright?"

Stiles struggled to stand but he was too busy gasping for a breath of fresh air that couldn't quite fill up his lungs no matter how deep he inhaled. He coughed into his sleeve, wheezing and panting.

"Oh God," Scott murmured, his voice hollow as it echoed in Stiles' ears. "A panic attack? Hold on, Stiles." Scott got down on his knees beside his best friend and helped Stiles into a sitting position so that his back rested on the cool metal of the lockers.

Stiles wheezed and coughed and gagged, his vision spinning and dancing. _He's trying to kill me!_

Tears stung Stiles' eyes. Had those really been the last memories his mother had had of him? Over the past years, he had struggled to keep those memories at bay, worked to bury those unwelcome thoughts.

 _Take him away from me! He's trying to kill me!_

"No!" Stiles sobbed, tears spilling from his eyes, his vision a clouded mess. He could vaguely make out the outline of Scott kneeling in front of him, reaching out tentatively with his hand. "I've never tried to kill you! I loved you, Mom!" His chest hurt like the shards of the now-broken wall around his heart had pierced it and left it to bleed like an open wound.

"Stiles, you need to breathe," Scott told him firmly, gripping his wrist.

"I didn't kill her!" Stiles yelled. His throat was tight and he gasped harder for breath. His cheeks burned from anger, hate, desperation. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. "I – never – hurt – her – " he wheezed. His lungs were too small, his surroundings were too deprived of oxygen…he was going to die…going to die like his _mother_ …

And then suddenly he could _breathe._ The wave of oxygen that entered his lungs startled him so much, he doubled over and choked.

"Stiles, calm down," Scott told him. He was still gripping Stiles' wrist, and Stiles realized that Scott's veins were black and popping out of his skin.

Stiles' chest rose and fell, and when his vision finally stopped spinning, he looked up at his best friend. "Did you – " he coughed out. "Did you help stop my panic attack?"

Scott winced as soon as he let go of Stiles' wrist. Black veins rippled on his forearm for a few more seconds before crawling back into his skin. "I took away your pain," Scott murmured. He met Stiles' eyes slowly and cocked his head to the side. " _You_ took your panic attack away. You started breathing again. I just took away your pain…but that was unlike anything I've ever felt before. It was a lot deeper than the usual pain I take from other people. _Emotional pain._ "

Stiles swallowed hard. His mom's voice still rang clear in his mind. _Stop looking at me like that!_ His eyes stung and his throat hurt. The memories that he had tried so hard and so long to bury, had resurfaced two days ago at the hospital, and now they seemed to have no intention of leaving Stiles alone.

"It's because of the book, isn't it?" Scott asked. But Stiles knew that Scott knew. They all knew. The Dread Doctors. They seemed to want nothing but to torment whoever read the book with the pain of _memories_. And in Stiles' case, he had been plagued by memories of his mom.

Memories, specifically, of his mom's final days. The days when she was paranoid to no end, when she had begun to see her little boy as a murderer. Her final days when her dementia had finally taken full control of her entirety.

"I didn't kill her, Scott, I didn't," Stiles whispered. He was trembling all over now, fingers shaking in his fist as he rocked back and forth nervously.

Scott put a hand on Stiles' knee. "I know you didn't. You'd never kill anyone."

At this, Stiles gulped. Of course, he hadn't told Stiles yet. Stiles _had_ killed someone, yet it was only Theo who was aware of Donovan's death.

"Hey, you're good to stand, right?" Scott asked him when Stiles didn't reply. "I'd hate to break reality to you but we've got to check up with Lydia. She says she's on to the trail of a new chimera."

Stiles accepted Scott's hand and allowed his dead weight to be lifted off the floor by Scott. There were some perks to having a super-strong werewolf best bud.

"Well, of course we'd let you take a rest if you're still shaky – "

"No, I'm fine," Stiles said firmly. He planted his feet on the concrete flooring of the boys' locker room and faced Scott with a set face. He was still crumbling, however, still falling apart, still hurting and disintegrating at the core; but he was going to go on.

"You're sure?" Scott's eyes asked his unspoken question. _What really happened that night at the hospital? What aren't you telling me?_

"I'm positive. You guys might, y'know, need my superhuman abilities," Stiles managed to joke.

Scott rolled his eyes. After years of friendship, Scott didn't seem at all surprised that Stiles could put up with the role of being the comic relief in the middle of a crisis. Even a personal crisis. "Come on," Scott said, his lips turning up in a small smile as they headed out the locker room.

In due time, Stiles knew he would eventually have to own up to the murder that he committed. He'd _have_ to, or else he'd keep crumbling inside. From grief, from guilt.

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 _ **A/N: Sooooo how did you guys find that? Too emo? Too bromance-y? Too…*insert adjective here*? Tell me what you think in your reviews! I'd love to hear from you guys! Also, there's this plot bunny that's been bothering me for quite some time now…has anyone wanted to see a proper funeral for Allison Argent? Or basically any of our beloved characters from Teen Wolf? I think they at least deserve a proper eulogy!**_


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